


Birthright

by GoldStarGrl



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStarGrl/pseuds/GoldStarGrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Studies show that first born sons often end up the most confident and successful of any gender or birth order.</p><p>Of course, there's always a margin of error.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthright

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I wrote this while stuck in a broken down elevator.

He came into the world unwanted.

Five months after a shotgun wedding between two people who were just beginning to recognize their loathing for one another.

He was given his father’s name, because no one cared enough to think of a new one.

* * *

 

His heart is racing too fast.

The bark is rough against his hands as he chases Michael up the tree, his seven-year-old brother screaming down at him, his eyes wide and furious. He can vaguely feel his father holding up his video camera, faintly hear him egging them on.

But all he can really focus on his how slow everything seems to be moving around him.

How the movement of Michael’s legs kicking up onto the next branch seemed practically glacial. How easy it would be to grab his ankle and throw him down to the ground and beat him within an inch of his life.

But too fast, too late.

Michael scurries farther up the tree, and he can’t keep up. The branches are getting too thin to support his weight, snap-snap-snapping as he slides back down the trunk, falling onto the grass and hating himself far more than any ten-year-old should.

* * *

 

GOB’s twelve when he figures out why he and Michael don’t get along like the brothers on TV do.

It’s because he hates him.

He hates him because he exists.

Because he was the son his parents planned for. The one who got his own name. The one who was in charge, in control, invaluable even at nine years old.

The one who was loved.

Not many would call the manipulating and compulsive lying his parents showered Michael with love.

But it was still more than GOB got.

* * *

 

At sixteen he starts doing magic, escalating quickly from card tricks and glow sticks to clouds of smoke and wild doves.

They escape screeching, breaking free and flying around the house. Everyday the tricks…no, _illusions_ , get louder and crazier and more dangerous.

Anything, anything to get them to notice him.

“GOB! Get your goddamn birds out of here!”

He fights a smile as he runs into his parents' bedroom to catch Houdini. Just wait until they see his new fire-in-the-sleeves trick.

* * *

 

He lurks in the back of Michael’s wedding reception, feeling a sharp, painful jealousy directed towards nothing and everything in particular.

His stupid, charming brother. His brother's beautiful, sweet bride. A prestigious job, a perfect family, his life all falling into place at twenty goddamn years old.

GOB drinks ten glasses of champagne and accidentally sets Lindsey’s dress on fire.

* * *

The cops are dragging his father away and the shareholders are murmuring anxiously and the rocking of the boat is making him feel sick.

Heads are turning towards the bow of the ship, his mother has crossed her arms and tilted her head.

“Well?” She asks expectantly. Looking at GOB. He crinkles his eyes in confusion, but at almost at the same time his heart is lifting, just a little, just starting to comprehend what it means, to finally be the one-

He hears a heavy sigh right behind him.

“OK, just give me a minute to think.” Michael says, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. And with his words there is a minuscule shift in the crowd. People’s faces relax, their hands stop clutching their chests. Everyone breathes.

GOB turns back around. He clicks his jaw. Of course. Of _fucking_ course. Michael to the rescue. Even when his whole life is falling apart, when his wife is dead and his son a freak and the father he so adored has pulled the rug out from under him, no one can even consider he might not be their savior.

Their perfect son.

He walks off the boat before it’s even fully docked and disappears for the next three weeks, drinking and making up card tricks and waiting for someone, anyone, to notice he’s gone.

No one does.

It’s the only trick he’s ever been able to pull off.

Making himself disappear.


End file.
